


Psychological Panic

by undernightlight



Series: Gays in Space [10]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Comfort, Emotions, M/M, Malcolm just needs some affection, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Shame, panic disorder, take this as you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15408564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undernightlight/pseuds/undernightlight
Summary: With the mounting pressure, Malcolm struggled to cope. One day, it's too much. He finds support in someone unexpected, but not unwelcomed.





	Psychological Panic

**Author's Note:**

> Another Reed and Hayes fic! I love this pairing and really wish they could've done something with this in the show, but alas, no gays in space back then, or...you know, a hundred and odd years in the future.
> 
> I hope I've managed justice with writing about panic attacks. I read up on them quite a bit before and while writing this, and from my personal experience with panic attacks, though I don't have panic disorder, like how I've written Malcolm. I hope it's okay.
> 
> Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

Malcolm was, as he so often seemed to be these days, tired. He was ready to be done here, in the Expanse, and ready to go home. Maybe he’d actually go see his parents, visit his sister perhaps; he’d heard she’s got a new boyfriend, have to see what he was like. Hopefully, he and his father would be able to get along for more than an hour at a time. But he had more important things to focus on, like getting that damn torpedo launcher fixed. That last Xindi attack had really knock out their systems. They’d been on repairs for a few days now, and hopefully everything would be functional again before they ran into another Xindi ship.

One final...yes, thank god. He was in the process of sliding out of the now functional torpedo launcher when the ship violently shook. He whacked his head on the way out, and he shook out the pain as he stumbled to his console.

“Archer to Reed,” he heard through the ship’s computer.

“Reed here,” he replied.

“Tell me those torpedo launchers are back online.”

“Just in time sir, ready on your command.”

“Load them up.” They loaded them, and within seconds they were launched. The ship continued to shake, a few consoles short circuiting, exploding, a crewman flew across the room. Reed couldn't worry about that. The torpedoes stopped getting loaded, then so suddenly, everything stopped.

Malcolm looked around to assess the damage: some consoles gone, a torpedo launched non functional again, one crewman needing medical attention but not severely hurt. This attack seemed different to the others. He called the bridge.

“Captain, what happened?”

“It was a warning,” he said. “Report to the bridge.” The comms dropped and Malcolm headed for the door, but stopped before leaving. He turned to look at the crewmen. They were already working on repairing the consoles, knowing well he preferred to repair the launchers himself, and faintly smiled before he left.

When entered the bridge, the Captain, T’Pol and Trip were all gathered around the briefing table in the back. He took his usual place and allowed them to continue talking, waiting for them to finish.

“- we could continue but we don't know what kind of warning they’ll send next,” Trip was saying.

“Turning around isn't an option, but we can’t just go straight in like this.” Archer turned to his tactical officer. “Could we modify the weapons we have to a bigger yield?”

“Possibly sir, depending on the size of the yield and what remaining resources we have. Can I ask why exactly?”

“We were attacked by a Xindi ship, an Insectoid. We think it was a warning not to go any further.” If only their communicators and computer could recognise the language, things should be just a bit easier. “They don't want us to continue.”

“Understandable, but that can't be an option.”

“Exactly. We need to find a way to increase the output of our torpedoes; they aren't able to penetrate the shields.”

“I don't think that's the issue,” Trip interjected, pulling up a ships schematic on the screen. “I mean, our torpedoes can't penetrate the shields but I don't think incresin’ the yield will do much good sir. I think their shields are just different to ours, work on a decent frequency.”

“That sounded affect the torpedoes, the phaser maybe, yes, but not the torpedoes,” Reed said.

“But our phaser do go through, at least sometimes, so it has to be that their shields operate on a different principle to ours.”

“Is there anything we can do about it?” The Captain asked. T’Pol had been silent until then.

“Without the schematics for their ship, or the knowledge of how their shielding systems work, then there is little we can do.”

“Lieutenant Reed, focus on repairing any damage caused, and then see if you can make any modifications to the torpedoes or their launchers.”

“Yes sir.” They were all subsequently dismissed, and Malcolm rode the turbo lift down with Trip. Malcolm couldn't find any word as Trip started talking, trying to make light of their situation. If ships were giving warning shots, then they must be getting pretty close to something important, which only tightened the know in his stomach. He managed to nod here and there, responding to Trip when necessary, though he wasn't really listening to what his friend was saying.

Malcolm stepped out of the turbolift and gave a half hearted wave as he made his way to the armory. When he entered, things were mostly as he'd left them, though he was two crewmen short by the looks. That made sense, one was injured and one escorted him. He walked to the main console and looked through the damage reports. The remaining people were buried in consoles in hope to repair them. Malcolm had faith that they would. He had as much faith in them as his heart would allow when he was in command of them.

He was a total mess, though he didn't let it show. If one of them messed up, they'd cause a set back, an issue that could be fixed, but if he messed up...that could be the difference between someone living and someone dying; it could be the difference between humanity surviving or being destroyed. That was a lot of pressure. He could handle pressure, but not like this, not when billions of lives depended on decisions he was making light years away. And they were getting closer to something, something they didn’t even know, and it was something Malcolm couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t something he could push aside and deal with later, if he ever dealt with it at all. It was mounting and he wasn’t sure what he could do.

Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. It was too warm in the armory, he thought, and as he reached across the console, he noticed his hand was trembling. He quickly recoiling the limb into his body, holding his shaking hand to his chest. His breathing was unstable, shaky, and he tried to swallow but couldn’t around the lump in his throat.

No, not now, he thought, no, please. He’d been so good for so long, managing to keep it together for years, but now, with mounting pressure and expectations, he’d cracked. He broke. This couldn’t be happening to him, not again.

He shut his eyes tight, focusing in his breathing as best he could, trying to stabilize it, but the more he tried, the more frantic he felt. He felt out of control but he didn’t know what to do. He stumbled back, dizzy, and was met by the hands of a crewman.

“Sir, are you alright?”

He opened his mouth to say he was fine, but nothing came out. He needed to get out of here, get out of the armory, he was sweating it was too hot.

“Sir?” But things sounded muffled, like he was underwater. No, he wasn’t underwater, he knew that, but that thought entered and wouldn’t escape, and he began to panic more. His vision started to blue in one eyes. He needed to get away.

“Armory to Sickbay, we need someone here, Lieutenant Reed’s – something’s not right.” A crewman called into the comms, but he couldn’t really focus on the words, there were just sounds. He stumbled again, someone keeping him on his feet. He felt faint, his legs ready to give way beneath him. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Everything around him became a blur, he couldn’t kept his eyes focused on anything. He vaguely remembered being led down the corridors, but not by who, and everything was fuzzy. When he was next aware of his surroundings, he was laying on a bed in sickbay. He sat upright, and a wave of nausea hit him suddenly and viciously. Instantly, a hand was on his shoulder, pushing him back into the bed.

“Lieutenant, please relax.” It was Phlox. Normally, Malcolm would’ve protested, but found he didn’t have the strength.

“What happened?” His voice was hoarse and throat was dry.

“Well, I cannot be one hundred percent sure, but it appears you had a panic attack.”

Yeah, that sounds about right, he thought. He hadn’t had an attack in years, not since the Academy, so why now? Malcolm knew exactly why, he wasn’t an idiot. He’d had worse panic attacks in the past, but this caught him off guard, and now he didn’t know what to do.

“Do you have a history of panic disorder Lieutenant?”

“I urm…” He didn’t like talking about it, his father always made a point of stopping those kinds of conversations before they began, but the good Doctor wouldn’t hold anything against him. “I have a person history, yes, but not a family history.”

“I didn’t see it in your file.”

“I had it removed before I graduated.”

“If I may ask, why?”

“I didn’t want it on my record.” Malcolm closed his eyes, feeling exhausted, but ready to return to work. “When can I go back on duty?”

“Not today, and normally, I’d give you another two days off, minimum, but we are in uncertain times. I’ll have to let you know tomorrow morning if you can return to duty. Now rest.” Phlox walked away, and Malcolm, for once, had no energy to argue, so he laid there, focusing on the feeling of his chest rising and falling and the biobed under his fingertips.

The room was quiet apart from the menagerie of creatures the doctor kept in cages and tanks. There was a quiet background beeping of a machine to his left somewhere, and he just laid there for some time before he was disturbed. There was ruffling to his left, someone shifting around. He was curious and rolled his head against the pillow, turning and opening his eyes just a little. He saw Major Hayes pulling himself upright and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Oh yeah, the Major was injured.

In the last attack, the one that knocked out the majority of their systems, a power conduite on deck E exploded, and he happened to be passing by when it did. He suffered burns across his entire body, luckily not too severe. Nonetheless, he’d been confined to the sickbay since the incident. Malcolm’s vision was clear again, but Hayes didn’t look brilliant; half the side of his face was still covered in burns, across his brow, jaw and forehead, and his arm and hand of the same side had twisting patterned scorched into his flesh. His hair had been shaved back in places too, along the same side as the burns, giving him straight patterns along his scale. He was in his MACO sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“How you feeling sir?” He asked, though it was clear he was having trouble breathing and therefore talking.

“I think I should be asking you that Major.”

“I’m fine, a bit sore but nothing a lot of pain meds can’t fix.” Hayes was the type of guy who refused medication like that, so for him to actively be needing a lot just showed how badly he was injured in the blast. “You didn’t answer my question sir.”

“I’m alright, nothing serious.”

“Panic attacks can be, when not dealt with.”

“You were listening in on the conversation?”

“Yes sir, sorry sir.” And he went quiet for a few moments, before speaking up again, “If you ever need anything th-”

“I’m fine.” His voice was probably louder than it needed to be. Hayes just sat there for a few moments, before pushing himself off his bed and onto his feet. He stumbled slightly, bracing himself from behind, and then he straightened himself out and began taking small steps. “Should you really be up?”

“Probably not, but I’m getting cramp so I’m not just going to lie there.”

“It might do you more harm the good,” Malcolm said, propping himself up in his elbows to watch the Major more clearly. His steps were staggered, putting more pressure on his right than his left, and his hands remained out from his body in case he may wobble and fall. As if on cue, Hayes stumbled, falling forward into the hard medbay floor with a sharp groan. Malcolm jumped up from the biobed to Hayes’ side, helping support the MACO as he pulling himself up onto his knees, sitting back on his heels. He looked so defeated, Malcolm thought, looking at his face. “Are you alright?” His voice sounded more panicked than he meant it to.

“Just fine.” He brought a leg forward, planting a foot in the ground, but he wobbled, and fell slightly into Malcolm who helped support him. Phlox rounded the corner then.

“Major, you should be in bed.” With the combined lift of both the Lieutenant and the Doctor, they were able to hall Hayes to his feet and drag him back over to his bed, and he groaned as he sat back down. Malcolm kept a hand on the Major’s back even after he'd been situated on the bed, as Phlox held up a scanner. “You haven't done any damage, which is good, but I suggest you not try physical therapy yet. Your appointment is tomorrow, do not forget.”

“How can I? I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“Very true. I'll be back in a moment.” Phlox gave a light smile, before wandering away, leaving the two alone again.

“Physical therapy?” Malcolm questioned, “I didn't know it was that bad.”

“It isn't really. There was some nerve and tissue damage, as you'd expect, so I might have difficulty walking and handling things for a few days. I trust you'll be able to run the training simulations sir.” There was a lightness to his tone that Malcolm hadn't heard before, and he returned a smile.

“Who do you think’s been running it since you've been in here?” And Hayes chuckled slightly, though it sounded a little strained. Malcolm realised then he'd never heard the Major laugh before, in any capacity. Must be the pain meds, he thought. He also realised then that his hand was still on Hayes’ back, and he quickly retracted it, stepping away and pushing himself up onto his biobed.

“Thank you sir. How are my MACOs doing?”

“Exceptional, as always. But of course, so is my crew.” He kept it light though he made the message still reigned clear. Hayes smiled.

“Glad to hear.” He shifted to lay himself down. The Doctor returned with a hypospray in hand and headed for Hayes.

“For you Major, hopefully this will keep you out of trouble.” He responded with an unenthusiastic nod as he was injected, and Malcolm watched as within seconds, any form of tension dissipated, his body going slack. “Just a sedative to keep him off his feet. Can I get you anything Lieutenant?”

“No Doctor, thank you.”

“Try your best to get some sleep then.”

Phlox left, filing back behind the corner, and Malcolm decided to lay down, hopefully get some prescribed sleep. He didn't find the biobeds uncomfortable, but he'd much rather sleep on the bed in his quarters, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He laid on his back for a while, but found he couldn't get comfortable. Instead, he rolled over and faced the Major, who was quietly snoring on his back. Malcolm thought he looked rather at peace in his current state, passed out and all.

He found he didn't always get along with Major Hayes that well. They were too similar but also too different, and they often clashed when it came to how thing should be ran. It got so bad they ended up in a fight, and Malcolm spitting blood for the few following days. It was his fault, he though, letting himself get out of control, but so did Hayes, and they were both disciplined for their actions. Malcolm found it funny that after that, they proceeded to get along better than they ever had before, finally listening to each other and integrating their teams effectively. He was glad that was finally the case, though they still disagreed and sometimes threw uncaring words at each other.

Malcolm continued to stare at Hayes, watching the rise and fall of his chest, and for some reason it helped him relax. It was a constant, he thought, this rise and fall, but why it was Hayes he wasn’t really sure. Maybe because he was the only one in the room. That sounded right. He continued to watch; Hayes shifted occasionally, bending a leg or moving his arm across his stomach, but he remained asleep. His head turned toward Malcolm, and he was momentarily concerned he’d be caught, but eyes stayed close and the light snoring continued; he breathed a small sigh of relief.

With nothing else to do, Malcolm found himself scanning the Major’s face, taking in all the details he could. He hadn’t had the option to shave in a few days so parts of his face was lined with stubble, but his left, with the burns, was smooth. The burning travelled down his neck too. His eyebrow was shorter, burned off. Malcolm noticed the small curved scar at the side of his nose, so very faint but still present. That would’ve been from their fight. He remembered punching the Major with all the force he could, so it wasn’t surprising a scar was left. It was only small, from the side of his nose curling up onto the bridge, and Malcolm felt a strong twist in his stomach from looking at it. That was his fault, he knew that. He had a small scar too, along the side of his head from where Hayes had kicked him with his thick soled boots. It hurt a lot for quite some time.

Malcolm felt tired as he laid there, and eventually he drifted to sleep.

# # # # # #

Two days later, Major Hayes was still trying to get the good Doctor to allow him to get back to his work. He’d missed his team, his work and he needed to be getting back, thought Phlox was determined to keep him in sickbay for the rest of his life it seemed.

“Doctor please, you can’t keep him here forever, my team need me and so does the ship.”

“You’ll be no use to anybody in the state that your in Major, now please, relax.” Phlos waved the instrument again and Hayes caved, finally stopping fidgeting with his hands and holding still while the Doctor worked on his scans. “Everything does seem to be healing well, better than I thought.”

“Then can I at least leave sickbay, get back to my quarters?”

“No work.”

“Yes doctor.”

“Then yes, you may. I don’t want you in any strenuous activity, and I mean it. No work or training with your team.”

“Yes.”

“You may leave, but I want you back here for ten hundred hours tomorrow morning.”

Hayes nodded his appreciation to the doctor as he hopped down off the biobed and headed for the door. He still struggled to walk a little, and it took him significantly longer to do anything, but he was just thankful to be out of the medbay so he didn’t have to continue staring at the white walls and ceiling. He wobbled his way through the ship to his quarters. He was looking forward to seeing his team, but he wanted to look at least more presentable than he currently did. It was nice to see everything was mostly as he’d left it. Somethings like picture frames and books and PADDs had slid across the desk and some onto the floor, but his bed was still made and clothes still folded at the end. He picked the frame up from the floor; the glass had smashing on impact, so he pulled the picture from the frame. It was a picture of him and his siblings, three brothers and two sisters, all smiling and laughing. They’d gone hiking together for the weekend and they had a fun time, despite getting lost and losing stuff along the way and being hungry when his brother Connor ate more than his fair share of rations.

It was an old picture, a year or two before he’d joined the MACOs; he looked young, carefree back then. He loved his family; Tyler, Noah and him, along the top, and Charlotte, Connor and Sophie along the bottom, all in age order from left ot right, top to bottom. He couldn’t help but smile. He set the picture on his bed and returned to pick up the glass along the floor. He gathered together all the large pieces he could and put them in the bin, hoping that was everything, before hopping in the shower.

He let the water run colder than he normally would, and he felt a shiver travel up his spine when he stepped under the stream. It felt good as it his his burnt skin, cooling down any heat the explosion had left behind, and he just stood there for longer than necessary. He scrubbed his hair, where he could, be wary of the burns across his scale, but it good the get the grease out. He washed carefully too, only gently rubbing the minimum amount of soap over the wounds, compared to the scrubbing his carried out on the right side of his body, though there was only so much pressure he could apply with his left hand. Finally feeling clean put his mind at ease, as much at ease as he could get.

He stepped out and dried himself off. He staved, ditching the five o’clock showed that he’d developed for a clean shave across his face, before dressing. He changed into his standard issue trousers and brown t-shirt. He tugged on his boots with difficulty, and lacing them was even more of a challenge, but he eventually managed. His hair was still damp when he left his quarters, but he couldn’t imagine it’s be an issue.

Hayes staggered his way to the MACO training rooms, hoping McKenzie had the grace to not take over his office just yet. They were training hard when he entered, and Cole, Money and McKenzie didn’t notice him step in. Quietly, he watched their target practise; they were as good as ever, if not better since the last time he’d seen them. When the simulation ended, he called out.

“Good work team,” and the three turned suddenly, though not startled.

“Sir, we didn’t notice you, we didn’t think you’d be returning to duty so soon.”

“You’d be right there Cole, I’t not on duty yet, just here to see how everyone was getting along in my absence. I’m assuming everything’s been alright?”

“Yes sir,” spoke McKenzie, “Woods and Romero’s have been training hard while you’ve been gone.” Neither of said officers were in the room at time, most likely on break.

“Glad to hear everything’s going smoothly. I’ll be in my office looking over reports if you need me.”

“But sir, you’re not on duty.”

“I’d rather not get further behind then I already am”

“I’ve written all the reports sir.”

“You have?”

“While you were incapacitated I was given command of the unit incase something should happen, so I’ve written all necessary reports, you’ll just need to sign off on them.”

“Oh, well thank you McKenzie.” He wasn’t expecting them to get along so easily without him, though he shouldn’t be surprised. They are all professionals, it made complete sense that she’d take over his duties while he was unable to, but it still seemed strange. He’d never had to stop his job for so long. It showed him though that his team was self sufficient; he was proud of them. “I’ll allow you all to continue training.” He nodded his head and they saluted him as he turned and left.

Now where, he thought. His plan was to sit and write reports, it would at least give him something to do, but hr didn’t even have that now. So instead he wandered to the armory, hoping to find something to keep him busy for a little while. As he was approaching, he heard objects falling through the door, and he ran in to find the issue.

Lieutenant Reed was on the floor, holding his shaking head between his hands, his entire upper body jerking in strange, unnatural ways. He was sweating, strands of hair sticking to his forehead. Hayes knew the signs, he knew that it was a panic attack, and he rushed over without thinking. The officers and crewmen in the armory was all stood to the side, unsure of what to do. Hayes dropped to his knees next to him.

“Lieutenant Reed,” he said, trying to gain his attention, but it didn’t work, “Lieutenant Reed.” He tried to be more forceful, but still nothing. “Malcolm,” he said in a quiet voice and soft tone, and finally they met eyes. Hayes could see he was struggling to breathe, struggling to swallow around the lump in his throat. “I need you to look at me.” The Major held onto the Lieutenant’s arms, hands still on his head. “I need you to move your hands away from your head, can you do that?” There was a moment of delay before the tactical officer tried to pry his hands from in his hair, but he only managed to get them mere inches away, both hands shaking rapidly. Hayes adjusted his hold, moving his hands to Reed’s forearms and gently pulling them down. Reed reacted by gripping onto the Major’s forearm, hands still trembling, but continuing to look at him.

“Malcolm can you tell me where we are?” He never called the Lieutenant by his first name, but he had to try help ground him, and he seemed to respond to it. Malcolm still couldn’t seem to speak. “It’s okay if you can’t, just breathe with me, do you think you can try?” Hayes made exaggerated movement with his chest imitating inhales and exhales so Malcolm could easily follow them with his eyes. He could see the Lieutenant try to mimic his movements, but he was having difficulty. Hayes carefully slipped Malcolm’s hand from his arm and grasped it in his hand, moving it the rest palm flat against his chest. He continued with breathing, allowing Malcolm to feel the movements under his own fingertips. “It’s okay, I’m here, I’m not leaving.”

Malcolm managed a small nod, rapid shaking of his head, but he was still struggling to breath. “I want you to just look at me and know I am here.” Hayes ensured his eyes were below Malcolm’s level. He nodded again. “Try and breathe with me, can you do that?” Another nod, and although he struggled at first, his breathing began to level. “I’m still here, and your doing well. Breathe with me.” Malcolm’s breathing, over moments of silence between them, continued to even out, but he was exhausted. Hayes kept his hand rooted on top of Malcolm’s on his chest until he felt him sway, and only then did the Major move his hand away as Malcolm fell into him, tired and sweaty but breathing relatively normal. And Hayes wrapped his arms around him and held him close, but tried not to smother him.

They remained like that for a while. Hayes could feel the sweat from Malcolm’s hair seep into his shirt, but that wasn’t important. Malcolm eventually pushing himself away, slowly and hesitant to make any movement, and looked at Hayes with tired and watery eyes.

“Do you know where we are?” Hayes’ voice was still soft and quiet, Malcolm’s face only inches away from his.

After a few moments. “Armory. Enterprise. Expanse.” And Hayes gave a small smile of relief, though the words were still broken and spoken with unusual inflections.

“Yes, but I think you should come with me to sickbay, just in case, okay?” Malcolm didn’t answer but didn’t give a protest when the Major gently helped him to his feet, and they walked out. Malcolm could tell the Major was walking slower than he normally did, standing close to him. Malcolm did feel better than he had minutes ago.

“Thank you,” he managed, but Hayes didn’t respond, his eyes ahead. Malcolm straightened himself out, holding himself as he normally did, to the best of his ability. He tried to fall a few paces behind the Major, but Hayes didn’t let him straggle too far behind, knowing he needed some space, so he walked a few paces ahead, but kept a hand around the Lieutenant’s wrist, their arms stretched out in the space between them.

Malcolm followed like that that for only a few more paces before speaking again. “Major, I can walk on my own. You can let go,” but Hayes did not let go, his hand staying firmly in place. Malcolm knew if he pulled harder enough, which wasn’t that hard in this case as he wrist moved comfortably in the grip of the Major, that he could free himself. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to.

Even in the turbo lift, Hayes kept a hold of him and Malcolm let him be held. When they began walking, Hayes kept himself a few paces ahead, something Malcolm was grateful for, and they continued walking to sickbay. As they did so, Hayes’ arm caught his attention; his left arm, his burnt arm, swung freely against his side, but there was an irritated band around his forearm, red and itchy looking. Was that him? Did he do that? He held onto the Major’s arm so tight that...yes, he did that, and he didn’t mean to, but he had done it nonetheless. Even he’d wanted to speak, his throat was too dry and there was a lump in this throat reforming; no words could be formed.

They reached sickbay, Hayes only letting him go directly outside of the doors that opened upon their detection, and Phlox saw them immediately.

“Major, I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

“I guess I wasn’t expecting to be back so soon. Doctor, could you look over the Lieutenant? He had another panic attack and I’m worried.” Malcolm visibly tensed at the words ‘panic attack’ as he was led to a biobed and was forced up by Phlox, who began running scans immediately. Malcolm’s eyes mainly stayed on the floor, occasionally flickering up to look at Hayes, but every time their eyes met, Malcolm found himself unable to keep the contact and looked back to the floor instantly. He sat as still as he could, but he couldn’t help but fiddle with his hands in his lap. He hated how a few days had managed to unravvel all the hard work he’d put in over the years; this panicked mess, it wasn’t him, not anymore, or maybe...no, he was stronger than that.

Phlox finally moved the beeping instrument away from his head and turned back to look at the Major. “Nothing seemed to be wrong. Elevated pulse and slightly out of balance blood chemistry but that’s to be expected.” Then he turned back to Malcolm. “I’m taking you off shift for the rest of the day; you need to unwind. Also, I’m going to prescribe you something to help with the anxiety, give me a minute,” and he walked away. Hayes stepped forward.

“How do you feel Lieutenant?” He asked.

“Fine. I’d rather not talk about it.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, if that’s a concern.”

Malcolm found he couldn’t reply. He changed the topic. “I didn’t realise you’d be back on duty so soon.”

“I’m not. Doctor Phlox let me out for the day. The MACOs didn’t seem to need me so I thought I’d visit the armory.”

“Probably, urm, a good thing you did.” Malcolm still struggled to hold eye contact.

“I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.” Hayes made it seem like it was no big deal, and maybe it wasn’t, but it sure felt like it to Malcolm. They remained in silence until Phlox returned.

“Here,” and he handed over a hypospray, “You don’t have to take it, but if you start feeling anxious or feel another attack coming on, this should help make it more manageable.”

“Thank you.” He could hear how weak he sounded as he played with the hypospray with his fingers.

“Major, is your arm alright?” And Malcolm looked up.

“Yes Doctor, it’s fine.”

“Well, I have that cream I told you about that will help heal them quicker and reduce scarring. I’ll get it for you.” They didn’t talk as Phlox walked to the side and picked up a small, round, metal container, and handed it over to the Major, who thanking him with a polite smile. “Well, neither of you two need to stay, but I still want you back in the morning Major,” who nodded in agreement, and they both left. They walked for a little while before anyone spoke.

“What do you plan on doing now?” Malcolm asked.

“Head back to my quarters most likely.” Hayes stopped and turned to look at the Lieutenant, who stopped a few paces ahead and looked back, “You’re welcome to join me if you don’t feel like being alone right now.” Malcolm must commend the man for knowing exactly what to say and when to say it because Malcolm dreaded the thought of being alone in his quarters. So he gave a small nod and allowed Hayes to lead the way, following quietly at his side.

They reached his quarters and Hayes allowed him to step in first. There were dirty clothes piled messily on the desk chair and a towel draped across the back. His bed was neatly made with a piece of paper resting on top along with PADDs and a book.

“Sorry sir,” he said, stepping in, “Things got knocked just the last major attack and I haven’t really had time to sort everything out yet.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Hayes swiftly scooped his dirty laundry and shoved it into a small laundry basket tucked away under the desk, before straightening himself back out and swiping up the PADDs the bed and placing them on the desk. He placed the book in the cabinets above the bed. He turned back and they made eye contact before Malcolm drew his eyes to the carpet.

“If you feel uncomfortable, you-”

“No!” He shouted out too quickly, too loudly, for it to sound natural, he tensed up, “Sorry, I just...I really don’t want to be alone right now.” He continued to look at the floor until he saw boots appear at the top of his vision. He slowly lifted his head to meet Hayes’ eyes, and this time he didn’t look away.

“It’s okay, I understand. I’m here,” was all he had to say for his breathing to stagger slightly, feeling it hitch in his throat. It had been so long, too long, since someone had told them that, and his heart twisted. Hayes, as if somehow knowing, enveloped him, arms fitting comfortably around his narrower shoulders and neck. Malcolm hesitated to return the embrace until Hayes spoke again, “I’m here for you.” His arms raised up around the Major, grabbing a handful of fabric across his back as he reached up and found his arms bending up and hands against his back shoulders. His head naturally fit into the crevasse of his neck, and Malcolm settled there, feeling warmth he’d hadn’t felt since he left Earth, and it was nice. He felt he could’ve stayed there for however long he was allowed and it wouldn’t be enough. He felt Hayes rest his face in his hair, and Malcolm was okay with that.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood like that before Hayes pulled away, and Malcolm was right, it wasn’t long enough, suddenly feeling cold without his body against his. “You need to rest.”

“No, I...I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

Hayes had already seen him close to sobbing on the corrugated metal in the armory and he hadn’t seemed...repused or disgusted, but Malcolm still had the fear of being thought of as less because of it. Maybe Hayes wasn’t that kind of man, he didn’t show anything to suggest he might, and considering Hayes brought him back from the attack, Malcolm decided he owed it to him, and possibly to himself, to allow honest between them.

“Because sleep...sleep is lonely, and I really can’t be alone now, not like this.”

“You need to rest Malcolm.” He looked up at his first name, it sounded unusual from the MACO’s lips, but sounding right. He shook his head, he couldn’t rest. He’d be alone and vulnerable and he hated that but he knew it was the truth, and he couldn’t hide from it anymore, but he didn’t want to be alone.

Hayes completely pulled himself away, drawing his arms away from resting on Malcolm’s upper arms, and only then did Malcolm realise his hands had been comfortably settled on the Major’s waist as they spoke. Hayes carefully took Malcolm’s wrist and drew him over to the bed. Then he backing himself against the wall and drew Malcolm down next to him. Malcolm had his back against his chest, and an arm draped across his waist.

“I’m still here,” the Major said, and Malcolm could feel it against his neck. He relaxed, until he looked down and saw Hayes’ arm across his body, burned and still red from him.

“Wait,” and he pushed himself up quite suddenly, grabbing the metal tin that sat on his desk, “Your arm.”

“It’s fine.”

“No it’s not. I did that to you.”

“You’ve done worse.”

Malcolm smiled slightly. “That’s not the point. I will rest once your sorted.” Hayes couldn’t argue, because at least it would make him willing to try and sleep, so he just nodded once. “Does it need to go across the the burns?”

“I’m not sure, but lost likey.”

“Your shoulder?”

Haye understood and carefully pulling his t-shirt off. Malcolm had to stop from gasping when he saw the damage across the man’s chest and stomach; he must be in so much pain, and he didn’t help.

“I’ll wash my hands,” Malcolm said, before entering the bathroom. He was quick, and when he returned, Hayes was shoving his shirt in his laundry hamper, and he’d also kicked of his boots. He sat back on the bed and Malcolm picked up the tin again and unscrewed it. The contents was closer to a gel than cream, light blue and clear, little air bubbles dotted throughout. Malcolm knelt in front of him, and scooped some onto his fingers; it was cold, which made sense in treating a burn. He set the tin down and gently took a hold of Hayes’ hand, holding it out to straighten his arm, and Malcolm then proceeded to hesitantly move his gel covered fingers across the irritation on Hayes’s arm. He was able to apply more force to work the gel into the skin, using the facial expression of Hayes to judge pressure.

He worked up and down the Major’s arm in small patcher, having to kneel higher to reach his shoulder. Hesitantly, Malcolm hovered his fingers over the burns on his face, and when there were no clear signs of rejection, he move his digits carefully across his temple, working across his forehead and down to his jaw. He hesitated close to his nose, and traced a finger over the small scar visible. Hayes, who had his eyes closed, opened them, and drew his right hand up and traced along the faint scar on Malcolm’s temple. Nothing was said, and that was fine with both of them, and Hayes hand came to settle and Malcolm’s neck as gel was continuously rubbing into his skin.

Malcolm was meticulous about it, making sure to cover every visible burn he could, across his arm, shoulder, chest, stomach and back. His face too, with fingers lingering longer than they needed to, but not as long as either wanted, and after some time, all the wounds had been covered. Malcolm screwed the lid on and washed his hands. Hayes was in the same place when he returned.

“Will you rest now?” He asked.

“I’ll try, yes.” Malcolm slowly took off his shoes, balancing against the bathroom door behind him.

“You can take your uniform off too, if that’s make you more comfortable.” Hayes added.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine as is. I can put a shirt on if you’d prefer.”

“No,” he said a little too quickly. Hayes seemed to have that effect on him, “I mean, the gel.”

“I’m going to be laying down.”

“Well, maybe not risk ruining another shirt.” He was referring to the one he’d sweated into, feeling bad about ruining a freshly cleaned shirt. He moved his hand to his uniform zipper, but hesitated. “I have my blues on underneath.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s whatever makes you most comfortable to sleep in.” Malcolm nodded before unzipping his uniform and shifting out of it. He roughly folded the uniform and threw it on top of his boots before walking over to the bed. Hayes shifted back against the wall like he had before, and Malcolm rolled onto the bed ungracefully, clumsy. He settled and felt an arm rest against his side again, and it felt right there. He could feel Hayes’ body heat through the thin undershirt between their bodies. The warmth was nice, something he’d lacked for a long time and he hadn’t even known it until he was against Hayes, It felt like the missing piece of the jigsaw that you’d given up on finding, and then it’s found in the most random of places and you can finally make it complete. To Malcolm, Hayes was now holding his head above water, keeping air in his lungs and allowing him to live, allowing him warmth and stability he didn’t know he lacked.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Hayes replied.

“How did you know what to say to me, back in the armory?”

“I have two siblings who suffer from panic disorder, both prone to quite intense panic attacks. I used to help them out a lot, back when I was on Earth.”

“They’re luck to have you.” Silence settled over them, but Malcolm had one more question to ask. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Of course.”

“What’s your first name?”

Malcolm not only hear the low chuckle from the back of Hayes’ throat, but he also felt it against his neck, the small expulsion of air sending a light shiver down his spine.

“Jay.”

“Just Jay?”

“Short for James.”

“Well, thank you James, for all you’ve done.”

“No thanks needed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, as I often say, sorry for any mistakes. I don't have a beta reader and there are only so many mistakes I can spot myself, but yeah, I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I decided to give Hayes the first name James, but everyone who knows him personally calls him Jay, all, of course, except for Malcolm. My headcanon is that Malcolm always calls him James, and it give something a little special to whatever it is they have.
> 
> Not sure if I'm going to follow this up or not. If I do, it will most likely be super short, and a just sort of time lapse of how what they have develops, maybe work in Jay's death and the effects it has on Malcolm.


End file.
